To Sleep, Perchance
by Simon920
Summary: Death fic. Horatio takes ill while on board the Indy.


TITLE: To Sleep…

AUTHOR: Simon

RATING: G

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters; I make no money from them.

SUMMARY: Illness on board.

WARNING: Death fic

ARCHIVE: ask please

FEEDBACK: Of course, that's half the fun…!

This is the result of a dare from Lt. Lila. Blame her.

**To Sleep, Perchance…**

Horatio made his way back to his small berth, the one he shared with Archie. It was tiny, cramped and damp and usually stank of unwashed bodies and dirty clothes and mildew. It had no window or ventilation and was barely large enough for one of them to stand—not quite upright-between the bunks. They had shared it for two years and were glad of the luxury their ranks allowed them.

He was exhausted, wet and cold through to his bones. The gale had finally started to abate enough for them to stand slightly down and he was about to have his first sleep in two days. God, he was tired and hungry and sore. He thought, wistfully, that if he were home, Rosie would put him to bed with a hot brick wrapped in flannel, a warm bowl of thick soup and a blazing fire. But Rosie was thousands of miles away and there was no chance of either hot brick or food as the fires were all doused because of the storm.

His teeth were chattering and his fingers gone numb, making it all the more difficult to get out of his sopping clothing. Frustrated and too spent to fight any more, he simply tore the ties and buttons off, thinking that they could be replaced later. He managed to put on his warmest nightshirt and added another blanket to his cot. Shivering, he climbed in, wrapping himself tightly in the scratchy wool.

He longed for a warm down like the one Archie's family had given him last Christmas, but Horatio was a poor boy from a family consisting only of his father, a semi-retired country doctor. There was no money for such things. His shirts were threadbare and his uniforms made of the cheapest materials available. There was certainly no money for fancy blankets. Lately he had become embarrassed when he was forced to attend a dinner or reception. The shabbiness of his clothing made him uncomfortable. Even Captain Pellew had noticed and teased him about it more than once. One day he would be able to afford such things, nice blankets and uniforms where the buttons didn't turn green and the material didn't wear through in months. It wasn't that he wished so much to be rich, just not quite as poor.

God, he was cold.

His feet felt like ice. Rising, he sifted through his sea chest until he managed to find a pair of reasonably dry stockings. Putting them on, he returned to his cot. They seemed to help a little. He curled up into himself, rubbing his own arms in an effort to warm them and, against his expectations, beyond tired, actually drifted into sleep.

Three hours later, returning from his own watch, Archie Kennedy found him in his cot, more unconscious than asleep. Alarmed by his appearance, he put a hand to his friend's hand. His skin was ice cold and damp. In the poor light from the single oil lamp, he looked gray. Shaking him, trying to rouse him had no result other than a sort of moaning that ended quickly. Pulling the down duvet his friend so envied off of his own cot, he added it to the thin pile of bed coverings, taking care that Horatio's long limbs were well covered.

Obviously, this was more than mere exhaustion. Concerned, he went in search of the ship's doctor.

Making his way down the ladders and the narrow passageways of the Indefatigable, his sense of foreboding growing. Horatio was never sick. Despite his appearance as pale and slender, he had the constitution of a horse. For him to be laid this low could only mean that he was seriously ill, especially coming on top of his being run down and worn out from that storm they had just weathered. Coming to the sick bay door, he knocked lightly and entered.

Doctor Sebastian was just emerging from his small sleeping cabin adjacent to the ward area. "Yes, Mr. Kennedy. What can I do for you this afternoon?"

"Forgive my intrusion, sir, but if you would, might you look at Mr. Hornblower? I fear that he may require your care."

Nodding, the doctor calmly followed Kennedy back to the small berth. Entering, they found him as Archie had left him, huddled under blankets and shivering, still unconscious.

The Doctor quickly made a superficial examination, feeling his forehead and his pulse. Pulling back the blankets, he carefully felt his chest and abdomen, probing with gentle fingers, but even this caused moans and feeble attempts to get away. Replacing the coverings, he turned to Archie.

"He should be moved to sickbay where I can tend to him more closely, and I'll inform the Captain that he is on the indisposed list until further notice."

"What do you think is the matter with him, sir? Is it truly serious?"

The older man smiled kindly, almost indulgently. "If you did not think so, I would not have been summoned. I'll have two of my boys bring him to me." Returning to the sickbay and giving the order, Hornblower was moved and resettled within half an hour. The sight of him, obviously ill, being carried caused consternation among the crew. Hornblower was the ship's favorite, much as he would have protested that fact. To see him too sick to walk under his own power caused talk and raised questions to which it was too soon to know the answers.

Those who worked closely beside him, his division among others, had known that he was tired and had been losing weight with the amount of work that had been put on him, but he never complained, never. He would just show up where and when he was supposed to and go about his business without any fuss. He had so much to do, though. His own duties as second officer of the ship, the responsibility of his division and the guns he was assigned. He was the ship's translator for both French and Spanish. The Captain had him teaching the Mids mathematics and navigation and even the languages he spoke, and he seemed, more and more to be acting as a sort of advisor or personal assistant to the Captain. It was a heavy load for shoulders barely twenty years old.

He was settled into the cot in sickbay that was reserved for the use of officers, more comfortable than a hammock for him to lie on. Doctor Sebastian could now see, with the better light down here that he had insisted on in his work area, that Hornblower's lips and nails had a bluish cast to them, his breathing far too labored. Though he was obviously experiencing chills, he was burning with a high fever. There was apparent congestion in his lungs and Sebastian called for more pillows to raise his head and chest, in an attempt to ease his breathing somewhat.

Concerned that the young man had not reacted to, or even seemed to notice his being moved or to the care being lavished on him, the Doctor tried to bring him to at least semi-consciousness.

Calling his name and gently rubbing his hands and cheeks had some effect and the dark eyes opened slightly as he made an attempt at an answer.

The doctor spoke softy, his accent musical. "Mr. Hornblower, you are in the sickbay. I'm afraid that you're to be my guest here for a little while so that we can make you well again. You'll be warm very soon now, and then you'll have some wonderful broth that I make myself to give you strength and to help you breath a bit easier."

The young man seemed to understand what was being said to him and managed to whisper something that Sebastian couldn't quite make out. "What was that, Mr. Hornblower? What is troubling you?"

Taking as deep a breath as he could and concentrating on each word, he tried again. "The Mid's. They were to have an exam this afternoon."

Sebastian smiled slightly. "They will have a few extra days to study, I suspect. You're not to upset yourself about things that don't matter right now. You need to get well. Then you can give them that exam."

"What's wrong with me?" His eyes were focusing better than a few minutes before. He was more lucid and, as a doctor's son, he would understand what Sebastian said.

"I believe that you have pneumonia, Lieutenant." The large eyes regarded the Doctor steadily. "You were exhausted and you haven't been eating as you should have been. You've allowed the Captain to ask too much of you, more than you are able to give and your body has rebelled. Now, you are young and strong, you will rest for a few weeks and then you will be well out of this."

For a few moments the only sounds were the creaking of the ship and the wheezing of Hornblower's breath as it rattled in and out of his lungs.

"The Captain…"

"Will be informed. You're not to concern yourself about that." He closed his eyes again. "Would you like to sleep now?"

"Yes" The single word was mumbled as the lad drifted off. The doctor straightened from where he had been leaning over in time to see the sick bay door opening as Captain Pellew entered. He crossed over to the cot, silently looking down at the now sleeping young man, then looked at Sebastian questioningly. The tall Spaniard gestured the Captain to follow him into his private cabin, adjacent to the main treatment room.

As they sat down, Sebastian behind his small desk and Pellew opposite in a narrow chair, the Captain asked, "Well?"

"It's pneumonia, Captain, but he is young and strong and should be well again in two or three weeks. Of course, he'll likely be weak for quite a while after that, but he should be fine in time."

"You don't believe that he's in any real danger, then?"

"He is quite thin, sir. His body is exhausted and I dare say that his spirit is also. I fear that he has been hard used these last few months, if I may say so, sir. Those facts coupled with the storm we just went through will add to his recovery time." Pellew regarded the man across from him. "I understand that Mr. Hornblower didn't leave the deck in two days for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time."

"He was needed. This ship was fighting for her life, you're aware of that."

"Yes, sir, I am aware, but I fear the Lieutenant will pay for his dedication to his duty."

"Then you do fear for his recovery, Doctor." Pellew's sharp eyes seemed to bore into Sebastian.

"I fear that he may be too worn down to wage the fight he must, Captain."

"Is there anything that I might do? Any medicines that would help? Would having him taken to a shore hospital, or even his home help?"

"We are headed back to England, are we not? I think that Mr. Hornblower may benefit from being moved ashore, away from the damp and the constant motion of the ship. I understand that his father is a physician of some note. Perhaps he might be of assistance with his son. Surely a parent would have a connection to a child that could only be to the good."

Pellew nodded. "I'll write the letters at once. We should be back to Portsmouth within the fortnight, with any luck. The dispatch vessel hasn't yet left the fleet, I'll send today. The messages will beat us home."

"Thank you, Captain."

"You will—keep me informed of his condition, Doctor?"

Sebastian smiled. "You know that I will, sir."

Word passed quickly among the crew that Lieutenant Hornblower had fallen ill and there was an almost constant stream of visitors to the sickbay to see for themselves or their mates how the young man was faring.

While walking about one could hardly avoid hearing tales of his adventures either told to newcomers who hadn't yet had the benefit of firsthand knowledge, or stories being repeated for the amusement of men who had lived through the exploits themselves.

"Cor, that night 'e steered the fire ship away from the fleet down in Gibraltar, you should 'ave seen the Cap'n after Horny came back aboard. I thought 'e was goin' to throw 'is arms about 'im, that's the truth."

"Right you are, and when 'e came back with the supplies after 'e commanded the plague ship in the Med. Saved our 'ides that time, that's no joke."

"You mean 'e captained a plague ship with supplies and made it back alive? Lord, that must 'ave been a sight."

"That it was, but I think that wot caught me the most was when 'e went back to that Dago prison when 'e could 'ave stayed right on board the Indy all safe and snug. Did you see Pellew's face as they were rowin away? I thought he was about to call them back. Either that or cry to see 'em go."

"Pellew cry? That would be the day."

"Yeah, well, you know that 'e looks at Mr. 'Ornblower's almost like 'is own. Anyone can see that. Treats 'im like 'is own son, 'e does."

"'Ave you seen the Cap'n since 'e took sick? Almost like 'e blames 'imself."

"Well, Pellew is the one who kept 'im on deck all through that blow we 'ad. Maybe 'e should feel to blame."

"You watch that talk, mate. Pellew is a 'ell of a good Cap'n, and you're lucky to 'ave 'im."

"Yeah, well, maybe Mr. 'Ornblower's wasn't too lucky this time 'avin Pellew above 'im. That's all I'm sayin."

"You know 'e'd 'ave stayed on deck if Bligh was Captain. That's 'Orny, for you."

"But 'e's gonna get better, right?"

"Of course 'e is, you idiot. 'E's Mr. 'Ornblower."

For a week he continued as he had been brought into the sickbay. Usually either asleep or unconscious with periods of wakefulness when he would be weak and out of breath and attempt to force fluids and some nourishment. He didn't complain, but it was apparent that his breathing was becoming more difficult for him as the lungs filled with fluid and he was forced to remain propped up to an almost sitting position in an attempt to ease the work his of lungs. With the lack of food coupled with the illness and the exhaustion he had gone into the situation with, he was becoming sicker by the day. His fever remained high and the chills would be brought to bay, only to return. Archie insisted he have the use of the warm down, and the doctor was grateful to him for his generosity. Warmer and far softer than the ships blankets, it would help a bit.

Doctor Sebastian did what he could, of course, made him as comfortable as was possible, kept him warm and quiet, but there was really little that could be done to actually relieve his condition. The sad fact was that it would have to run its course. The medications simply didn't exist to treat such things.

His recovery would depend on him.

The officers were as concerned as the ratings. Even among the men who might have been rightly considered Hornblower's competition or occasionally his adversaries, there was a deep respect and liking for him. His intelligence, sense of honor and fair play combined with the courage he employed when necessary had endeared—occasionally grudgingly—him to virtually everyone on the ship.

His absence caused a gap at the wardroom table during meals and he was missed at the almost nightly games of whist and chess. Though quiet, he had a presence that was powerful, it was an almost unspoken strength, a calmness that was counted on and not really noticed until gone. The games continued, but the life had gone out of them without Hornblower goading them on to better play.

The young Midshipmen might have been the ones who missed him the most. Lieutenant Bracegirdle and Mr. Bowles took over their classes, as far as they were able, but they weren't nearly as much fun as when the Lieutenant taught them. Not all that much older than his students, he would often allow them to digress onto related subjects. One day he had them reenact the defeat of the Spanish Armada on the poop deck, with the Mids taking the sides of the British and the Spanish ships, Hornblower taking the part of Drake and Mr. Kennedy somehow transforming himself into good Queen Bess. As Hornblower's division pumped the deck hoses to simulate the storm instrumental in the Spaniards defeat, even Pellew was laughing out loud.

The Mid's learned, though—by the time he was done with them, they knew their navigation and their languages—and if they managed to stuff some history and classic literature in as well, all to the good.

One night, almost a fortnight after Hornblower was taken ill, Captain Pellew found himself in the passageway leading to the sickbay. He approached the door, pushed it open and entered. The room was quiet, save for Hornblower's labored breathing. The few other patients were sleeping, the lights low. Crossing over to the officer's bunk, he sat next to the Doctor who was calmly sponging cooling water on Hornblower's fever heated skin. His nightshirt, as was common practice, had been removed to make his treatment and attention to his physical needs simpler.

"How is he?"

"He is weak, Captain. I am becoming concerned for his recovery."

"The entire crew is reacting to his illness, have you noticed? The ship is quiet, the men seem afraid to make any noise which might disturb him."

"Yesterday, I believe that several of the men came to blows because a crew member refused to stop singing just outside the door here. I had to intervene."

"Will he live?" Pellew was staring at the terrible changes that had occurred in the young man in just the two weeks since he'd become ill. He was thin, wasted looking, pale as a sheet and unresponsive. It was frightening to see. His face was shadowed with stubble, the skin around his eyes bruised and his lips cracked from his attempts to get more air through his mouth.

"I have hope that he is strong enough to…"

"Doctor Sebastian, please. I've asked a direct question. I would have a direct answer. Will his man live or die?" Pellew was testy, abrupt.

"I don't know, Captain. He is weak and his body is using the reserves that he had very quickly. If he is to live, he must start showing improvement soon, otherwise he will not have the strength to continue fighting the illness."

Hornblower's hand, resting in the top of the covers, suddenly clenched the duvet, almost as thought he were in pain, fighting off a spasm of some kind or perhaps a bad dream. Moving in a reflex, Pellew took the hand in his own, gently unclenching the fingers, soothing them smooth and taking the hand in his own, holding it carefully and stroking the flesh on the back of it. He gesture seemed to quiet the young man, at least for now.

The Doctor turned back to another patient, leaving the Captain sitting beside his officer, holding his hand and gently wiping the damp cloth over his forehead.

"So, how is he, Archie? Any word?" Lieutenant Kennedy sat himself at his usual place at the table in the wardroom. Dinner was being served and everyone, other than the officer of the watch was there.

"He's—he's holding his own. Doctor Sebastian says that he's getting close to the crisis and after that passes he'll start improving. Should begin any time now." He looked up with a small and unconvincing smile. What Sebastian had actually said not an hour ago was that if the crisis didn't pass soon, he wouldn't have the strength left to fight it when he needed to. He was becoming severely dehydrated and his lungs were still terribly congested, his breathing a wheeze of pain. The lack of enough oxygen had caused his lips and his nails to turn blue…cyanotic was what Sebastian had called it, and it was a bad sign. His constant coughing was bringing up bloody phlegm and he was delirious on and off. His fever still hadn't broken and even Pellew was starting to lose hope, not that he'd ever admit it.

They would be in Portsmouth in just a few days, Hornblower's father had be sent for and, with any luck, the relative warmth and quiet of the port would help him regain enough of his strength to win.

In the Captain's Cabin, Pellew and Sebastian were discussing just that hope.

"Do you really think that getting him off the ship will make that much difference, Doctor?"

"I hope that it will, Captain. The damp and the constant motion of the ship make this sort of illness even more difficult for the men to fight off. I know you've sent for his father, do you think that he might have accommodations that would permit the man to tend to his son? I know that the Navy does it best, but in all honesty, the Military Hospital is not the ideal place for Mr. Hornblower right now."

The Doctor was too tactful to say that a sewer would be almost the same as the hospital. Sanitation was almost nonexistent with overcrowding the rule and medical expertise was limited, at best.

"I shall make my home available to them, if you think that might help. I've the room and I've servants enough to see to whatever they may need...no, Doctor, I insist. I would feel Mr. Hornblower's loss—deeply. He is…a fine officer and an exemplary young man. It would pain me to see him in that Hellhole."

"Thank you, Captain. That could well be what makes the difference."

Pellew paused; taking a moment to sip the brandy he was sharing with the Doctor, quietly watching as the Spaniard spoke. Finally he said what was on his mind. "You don't hold out much hope, do you, Luis?"

"I wish that—he had more reserves to draw from. His body is almost without strength now. If he is to live, it is his will that will carry him through."

Later that night, somewhere in the second dogwatch, Archie was sitting beside his friend. A candle burned and he was reading Romeo and Juliet again. Something made him look up, some small movement and he caught Horatio's eyes looking at him, actually focusing.

Immediately he moved closer, softly saying, "Hello, you've had us worried, you know."

Hornblower managed a half croaked "…Sorry."

"Would you like some water?" The slightest of nods affirmed that he could try.

Pouring some water into the cup, Archie tried to have him drink without spilling any more than necessary. After a cup and a half had made their way home, he was done. As he had helped Horatio drink, Archie could feel that the fever still hadn't broken. "I'll be right back." He went to Sebastian's sleeping cabin. "Sir, Doctor…he's awake." Instantly the older man was on his feet and pulling his dressing gown over his nightshirt.

"It's good of you to decide to join us again, Lieutenant. Do you think that you might manage some broth?" Again, that slight nod. "Mr. Kennedy, would you please bring some? It's on the top of the oil lamp there." It was imperative that Hornblower get some nourishment in him. His weakness was his biggest problem in getting well at this point.

A bowl was brought and the Doctor sat beside the cot as he spooned it, bit by bit into the sick man's mouth, all the while keeping up a soothing course of encouragement. "Yes, that's right. Just a bit more and you'll feel better. I know you're not hungry, but that's what a life of duty entails, now, you know that…doing things you'd rather not. A few more spoonfuls, if you please, Mr. Hornblower. Yes, that's the way."

He ate half the bowl before he drifted off again, but Sebastian and Archie were as happy as if he'd danced a jig.

"Do you think that's it then? He's getting better?"

"We can hope, Mr. Kennedy, certainly, but he is still quite ill. He's not out of danger quite yet."

"But he was awake, and he was talking to me and he ate and drank—that's all to the good, isn't it?"

"Yes, of course, Mr. Kennedy and we know that Mr. Hornblower is a stubborn young man. He will fight, we know that, he hasn't given up and neither have we."

Archie spent the rest of the night keeping the vigil, but his friend didn't wake again before he had to leave for his watch.

Later that morning Captain Pellew walked into the sickbay with a bounce to his step that had been missing these last two weeks.

"Doctor Sebastian! We have passed the point and shall drop anchor within the hour. I understand that our patient rallied during the night and has decided to continue his career with His Majesty after all." He crossed the small space, looking down at Hornblower's cot, stopping short at the pale face on the pillows.

"I'm sorry Captain. I'm more sorry than I can say. Mr. Hornblower stopped breathing a few minutes ago. There is nothing more to be done."

"But he…"

"Captain, last night was a momentary burst of strength, a temporary rally. I had hoped that it was the turning point, but I'm afraid that he was just too weak to fight off the illness." Gently, almost tenderly, the Doctor pulled the sheet up over the quiet face still propped on the pillows. "I was just about to inform you."

Pellew looked past the Doctor into his sleeping alcove where he caught sight of Kennedy, sitting with a book in his hands, a stricken look on his face, almost one of shock. The young man looked up to the Captain and softly spoke. "Last night I was reading this when he woke… '…And, when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he shall make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night, and pay no worship to the garish sun.' It's from Romeo and Juliet. I could never get him to read it. I tried, but he never wanted to."

"Mr. Kennedy, you are overwrought…"

He answered mildly, absentmindedly. "Why, yes, I suppose that I am. It continues here, a few lines later, 'Ah, well-a-day! He's dead, he's dead, he's dead!…He's gone, he's killed, he's dead!'" Archie was crying, his eyes still on the pages, and tears on his face. He ignored them. He looked up to the Captain. "He must be buried at sea. Sir, that is what he would want. He must."

The next day Indefatigable weighed anchor from Portsmouth and sailed ten miles out to sea, towards the Atlantic. Her entire ship's compliment was aboard with the addition of Doctor Hornblower, come to the city to care for his only child and now rendering the last service to his son that he could. He was broken by the news and Doctor Sebastian privately believed that he would join his son soon.

The Ensign dipped to half-staff, the piper played, the crew stood at attention, the familiar words from the Book of Common Prayer were read. The body, in dress uniform, washed and sewn into it's shroud by his own division helped by the officers of the ship and weighted with two small shot was slipped beneath the waves.

It was done.

Quotes from Romeo and Juliet from Act III, sc.ii

11/04/02

12


End file.
